


wish me luck as you wave me goodbye

by Syntheticpalindromes



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:28:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25859737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntheticpalindromes/pseuds/Syntheticpalindromes
Summary: Aziraphale balked, “You thought Dunkirk would be a pleasant place to take a holiday during the German’s advance on Allied troops?”The demon sniffed, “Yes, well. Ah. Point taken I suppose.”wartime is never too much fun, but seeing an old friend can be
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 10





	wish me luck as you wave me goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this like....a whole year ago and then never finished the series where it was going to be a load of vignettes over history but EH it's quite sweet i'll post this one anyway

The first time Crowley was truly and utterly sure that the strange stabbing pain he felt in his chest when he looked at Aziraphale wasn’t just indigestion, was at about twenty to three in the afternoon on the 28th May. 1940. He was quite sure of the exact time and date because he had begrudgingly glanced at his pocket-watch, wondering why the Luftwaffe thought it was in any way acceptable to still be firing at that time of day when he’d just sat himself down outside of what used to be a Patisserie. As expected, a moment later, Aziraphale wandered by. Looking extremely unkempt for once, and positively fuming,

“Well I suppose this would be your lot’s fault then?”

Crowley’s mouth curled into the vestiges of a smirk, “No ‘Hello’ then?”

Aziraphale, patting at the left thigh of his suit trousers, where some dust from the French town had settled, with the handkerchief torn from his pocket, “Yes. Sorry. Hello, Crowley.” Toeing the rubble of what was part of the Patisserie with his Oxford, “As I was saying though. You’ve really, pardon my French, buggered this up for me. I was supposed to be aiding the rescue and apparently all the work I did to sort out that mess in Arras went a little bit astray. So I popped down to see how it was all going. Hm...Not well thanks to your lot apparently.”

Crowley scoffed loudly, dusting off the chair next to him so Aziraphale could perch angrily, “Oh, _come on_. You do my lot far too much credit with these things. As far as I’m aware, the Nazis managed to sort this out by themselves. As much as it pains me to admit, they’re quite cunning. I’m just here because I thought, foolishly, that Dunkirk would be a nice seaside holiday.”

Aziraphale balked, “You thought Dunkirk would be a pleasant place to take a holiday during the German’s advance on Allied troops?” 

The demon sniffed, “Yes, well. Ah. Point taken I suppose.” 

There really was something in watching Aziraphale go the most amusing shade of red when he got _angry_ , something that was actually very rare. Generally, he was well equipped to stay in a state of blithe bemusement at the things that Crowley did. But, every once in a while it was nice to see his (metaphysical) feathers ruffle.

Crowley cast a glance out towards the gunfire and beaches, long lines stretched across the pale, grey sand, “If I weren’t to tell a lie, I don’t really like how this lot operates. Bit savage. Although, I was never too against when they just used to lob rocks at each other when they didn’t like someone. As backwards as that whole idea was. Bombs and shells, a bit too much, even for me. Don’t you think?”

Aziraphale didn’t answer immediately, eyes trained out to sea till he muttered, “Horrible if you ask me. All of it. I’m surprised you’re not revelling in it. Happy as a clam to see all the torment and such.” Blinking back towards Crowley and looking rather more tired than he’d ever seen the angel look before, “Humans really are some of the daftest creatures I’ve ever seen milling around. Building things just to climb into them and shoot each other over laws and land and power.” He tucked his handkerchief back into his front suit pocket, crossing his legs and watching another Destroyer cutting its great way towards the mole, spraying water behind it as it went at a clip, “Blast your lot for coming up with the idea of countries and rulers, I knew the humans would get positively distraught over those.”

Unusually, for once, Crowley didn’t smirk in glee at Aziraphale’s annoyance. Usually it was a bit of a lark to wind him up over the nature of the silly humans, but this time he looked...Well...A bit put out, honestly. Aziraphale was always a bit nonplussed when he had to putter down to spend time in warzones, and for a while Crowley thought it was because it was hard to get blood out of white slacks but after a while it was evident. 

He really did quite care about the humans. 

Especially the good ones.

Crowley stood very suddenly, the pit of his stomach very, very hot and sickly. Which again, was unusual, because he was pretty adept at keeping those sorts of human feelings on the low. But not this time, evidently. 

He wet his lips, 

“I suppose, then, it would be rather interesting if something were to, say, perhaps help the BEF on a little bit?” 

Aziraphale appeared to perk up at that, eyebrows shooting up his forehead, “Oh? Are you quite allowed to do that, my dear?”

A quick, “‘Spose we’ll see won’t we.” Was muttered under Crowley’s breath and then, “Up. Up. Come on. Have a look.”

Nobody probably would have believed that, while the British in their tunnels and naval admirals sat at their desks devising plans did a jolly good job at coordinating things, it was actually a demon who managed to jig it all on a bit quicker than expected and as the first merchant vessel chugged along the skyline towards the rows of men littering the beaches; Aziraphale turned to Crowley and beamed. Hands clasped in front of him in a clap of delight, bright little eyes shining in a way that had that feeling coming again, shooting into a place inside Crowley that he thought was only reserved for digestive organs and maybe a convenient place to hide illegal substances when he was feeling a little bit cheeky and very bored. 

“Oh dear! Look at that! Oh, Crowley. I have to say that’s very kind of you. Are you sure you won’t get into any trouble below for this? Doesn’t seem like something they’d really look at and think it was a terribly good idea for someone like yourself.” He flushed, “No offence intended, my dear.”

The demon had to straighten his tie, just so he could pull casually on the collar of his shirt and loosen the fabric from where it was clinging to his skin, “Oh. Ah. Yes. None taken, Angel.” Men began to pile onto boats where they could, skies clearing of clouds but also of gunfire. Crowley couldn’t take the credit for that one as he slipped another quick look at Aziraphale who was gazing up at the heavens. “I’m sure the paperwork can be muddled a bit before being sent back to my head office’s, I’ve taken credit for a lot of other things. No need to start being truthful now…” He trailed off, brushing a tad more dust off the lapel of his suit, “Right. Happy now?”

Aziraphale’s eyes looked glassy, “Of course. Thank you Crowley. I have always thought for a demon you certainly do know the difference between good and, well, true evil. I’m always glad your goodness shines through oftentimes.” 

“Eurgh.” Crowley grumbled, “You’ll make me feel queasy. I’m not good, Angel, I just don’t think war is twice as fun when most of one side’s forces have been blown and shot to pieces of a French beach. Probably should have more of a chance for a bit more roughty-toughty fighting in the next few years if there’s some left to slug it out with the blasted Nazis.” 

He cleared his throat, ignoring Aziraphale's soft look. 

The angel laid a gentle hand on his elbow, “Thank you, Crowley.” He offered him a smile, a dashing one at that, thought Crowley, “I’d like to ask if you’d want to go to lunch but with the state of the world...I’m not too sure where would be open?”

Crowley huffed out a well tempered laugh, “I think you’re probably quite right.”

What happened next did throw Crowley into a bit of a tailspin however, thrown a bit off guard as Aziraphale whipped out his handkerchief again. Leaning into Crowley’s space, who froze, eyes guided by the angel’s movement under his tinted glasses as the shorter creature dabbed at his left jawline. Mouth settled into a curt line, concentrated, before he leant back again; tucking away the piece of fabric.

“There we are.” Catching Crowley’s look of confusion and following it with, “You had a spot of brick dust on you. And while it rather matched your hair, I know how upset you would have been if someone were to see you looking out of sorts like that.” 

He smiled again, cheerily, and Crowley’s chest seized up at the centre. 

Or, somewhere slightly to the left and down a little bit to be precise.

Keeping his arms taught at his sides to stop himself from placing a slender hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and squeezing it. Just to see how soft he might be underneath all that clothing he wore, see if he was as soft as his soul was.

Instead, he mumbled, “Right.” And walked off towards the beaches, hoping to catch a ride back to England on a nice little pleasure yacht. 

And while he sipped a cup of tea, perched on the boards as France disappeared him and the British soldiers eyed him with utter, tired confusion, he decided that next time he saw Aziraphale; he would say something very suave and impressive and see if perhaps he wanted to come back to his flat for a quick scotch. As good friends often do.


End file.
